


Dreaming Wide Awake

by Xairathan



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Gen, Manga Timeline, One-sided Mari/Yui, and some Rebuild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xairathan/pseuds/Xairathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Yui has given her plenty, Mari can't help but want for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Wide Awake

The food is tasteless and dry in her mouth. Even though Yui is treating and it’s just the two of them, Mari can’t help but feel unsettled. She chases a piece of sushi around her platter with her chopsticks, not even bothering to hide the troubled look on her face. She’s never been good at hiding things, and tonight it’s biting her in the ass: Yui’s concerned expression makes it hard for Mari to look up at her.

The tuna leaps off the plate and nearly lands in Mari’s tea. Exasperated fingers grab the sushi and pop it into her mouth. Her eyes remain fixated on the empty dish. "It doesn’t taste good?” Yui asks, her hand reaching across the table to rest on the other’s. Mari’s gaze drops, her cheeks heating, eyes beginning to sting.

“It’s fine,” she chokes out, willing herself to shake off that gentle pressure on her hand. She cannot bring herself to. Her vision is beginning to blur- it’s probably Yui’s glasses, perched atop the bridge of her nose. “I’m just thinking.”

“You seem to be doing that a lot.”

“I’m leaving for England in a week. There’s a lot I have to think about. Housing, studies, packing-”

The light grasp on her hand tightens. Mari feels her stomach flutter weakly, as if the fish she’s eaten has come alive in her stomach and is thrashing around. Her mouth thins into a line. “Why do you do this to me?” she whispers: she cannot speak any louder for fear of her voice failing. She senses Yui’s confusion in the thumb strokes on her palm; reading people and their gestures is one of the few areas where she might be better than her counterpart. “I’ve already told you how I feel, but you don’t treat me any differently. If anything, you’ve just… become nicer.”

“You’re leaving,” Yui points out. “I thought we should at least enjoy the time we have left.”

“And this is how you do it? By having dinner with me once a week?” Mari smirks, a wounded tilting of her lips. “What if Gendo hears about this, hmm? Would he think you’re cheating on him?”

“I already talked to him about it. He doesn’t mind.”

“Of course he doesn’t mind!” Hands ball into fists, wry humor flashing over to anger in an instant. “He doesn’t care, Yui, don’t you see that?! I do, I want you to be happy, and I-” The desperate fury which had consumed her suddenly drains away, and Mari sags back against the chair. “I forget sometimes, you know?” she says, the broken smile appearing again on her face. “I forget that I’m only sixteen, forget where I am… I try to act so mature that I forget I’m really just a schoolgirl.”

“Mari-”

“I’ll be right back,” Mari says abruptly, standing and pushing her seat back. “Bathroom.”

She sweeps off without waiting for a reply or a reaction, striding down the narrow aisles with a confidence unbefitting for her age. It’s a defense mechanism as much as it is an act- Mari knows from her random readings over the years that even just the appearance of certainty can be all it takes to fool others. She is no fool, though, and neither is Yui.

A catchy tune is playing in the washrooms, and Mari finds herself humming along as she rinses her hands. Cold water sluices off her skin, and she scrubs at her palms urgently, as if the act of washing can remove the lingering traces of Yui’s touch. She wants to forget it; she wants to remember it forever, she wants it to be hers. A spray of water mars her reflection in the mirror, kicked up by the movement of hands to her face. A few stray droplets land on Yui’s gifted glasses, set carefully to the side, almost lovingly: a strange counter to the almost manic motions that Mari puts herself through.

Eventually the taps are shut off, the last of the red on Mari’s cheeks swirling down the drain. She dries first her hands, then the red-rimmed glasses, with a paper towel. The song tapers off, replaced by a cheery commercial for something undoubtedly irrelevant. “Shut up,” she snaps beneath her breath. Alone in the washroom, her thoughts refuse to obey her.

Yui is waiting by the door with Mari’s bag in hand when she returns. “You were taking a while,” she explains. “I settled the bill and everything. Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

“I’ll be fine by myself, but thank you,” Mari replies. She’s not sure how much more of Yui’s presence she can take. It’s like a drug to her, intoxicating, soothing; it makes her blood sing and her emotions scream out with rage and yearning. Yet she does not move. Something keeps her rooted there, bag hanging loosely off one shoulder, hands clasped together in front of her body like a barrier.

“Nonsense. You’re not eighteen, so you can’t drive, and I’m certainly not allowing you to walk home in the dark.” Those gentle fingers wrap around her wrist and pull her forward, persistent in their pressure and yet light enough so that breaking their grasp would be a simple matter. Again, Mari does nothing.

 _Why?_ cries her heart, though her mind has already formulated the reply. It’s the advantage to thinking at lightning speeds. Mari never has to wait long to answer her own questions. The disadvantage comes when they actually make her feel things: _I can’t help it, I’m only 16,_ she tells herself, even as she tries so hard to act like the mature upperclassman she admires so much. Her foot catches on a raised slab of concrete, and Mari pitches forward, barely managing to steady herself using Yui’s shoulders.

“Are you alright?” Yui asks, and is answered by a jerky nod. Mari retreats slightly back as Yui releases her hand to search for her car keys. Under the empty radiance of the streetlamps, Mari can almost bring herself to believe the light is coming from Yui herself, pushing away the darkness with the brightness of her soul- _but it is a child’s thought,_ Mari scoffs. Memories can be feigned or altered with enough effort, and she wants to remember everything about this night as accurately as possible.

As Yui begins to lay the contents of her bag out on the roof of her small car, it is then that Mari remembers Yui’s contacts haven’t come in yet. Removing her glasses, she holds them out in silence, and feels them leave her hands. As the world mists over for the second time that night, Mari hears the grating of metal on metal, and a second later, the car locks pop up. A shadow approaches through the smudges of color, a familiar pair of lenses being pressed into her hands. “Thank you,” says Yui, opening the passenger side door for Mari before walking around the hood of the car.

The seats are comfortable, covered with some sort of soft material, no doubt added as an extra layer of protection. Mari strokes the fabric beside her legs, then rests her hands in her lap. “Something that soft should be illegal,” she says as Yui gets into the car and buckles herself in.

“I’m sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m just saying.” Mari’s head turns to stare out the window as one of her hands trails down the side of her thigh to brush against the seat cover again. It reminds her too much of the woman sitting next to her; the disgust that wells up from within seems to direct itself both at the cover and the one seated upon it. The churning of her gut intensifies when an arm not her own reaches across her chest.

“Buckle up,” orders Yui, pulling the seat belt strap away from its housing. “If we get into an accident, I don’t want you getting injured.”

“I trust your driving.”

She can feel Yui’s frown even with her head turned. The belt slides itself across her body and secures with a click, yet another one of Yui’s somewhat-helpful gestures. Really, Mari doesn’t care: if she gets hurt, then she can stay in Japan for a little while longer, and- her heart feels as though it’s skipped a beat- maybe Yui would visit her. No, wait. If the accident makes her feel guilty, then perhaps she won’t visit at all. Mari heaves a sigh, lost in the roar of the starting engine, and continues to stare blankly out the window.

Empty intersections and crosswalks whiz by. It’s surprisingly empty for this time of night, Mari notes, but it’s a weekday night, and perhaps that’s part of the reason. Sometime during their journey, Yui begins to hum. She can’t carry a tune to save her life- Mari knows this firsthand- but the simple vibrations of her voice are one of the most beautiful things Mari think she’s ever heard. Like what an angelic chorus would sound like, perhaps. Never moving from her position, she begins to sing along, the syllables heavy on her tongue. Each word is a release, every verse a catharsis, and the rest of the drive passes quickly. The songs are all ones that Mari recognizes; some of them she didn’t realize Yui was even familiar with.

They pull into the parking lot of Mari’s dormitory, and Yui shuts the engine off, but she doesn’t stop humming until the last word leaves Mari’s lips.

The ensuing silence deafens them. Slowly, hesitantly, almost fearfully, Mari shifts in her seat. The click of the restraints breaks the spell that seemingly lies on them both. Yui unbuckles and exits in a single practiced motion, taking her bag with her. Mari turns, obviously confused. “You’re coming with me?”

“Just to make sure you get to your room safely.”

“I live on the second floor. It’s not like anything will happen.”

“What if the elevator malfunctions?”

“I don’t use the elevator.”

“And if there’s someone in the stairwell?”

Mari scoffs. “For a genius like you, you sure can get paranoid at times.”

“I’m sorry. It comes with the territory.”

Yui’s ambiguous apology makes Mari feel several degrees colder, but she says nothing. Shouldering her handbag, she waves her hand forward, buzzing them past the dormitory security and into the structure. Their footfalls echo in the empty hallways and up the stairwell, which is devoid of any suspicious figures.

Mari’s room is three doors down and to the left from the stairs. She bows to Yui in thanks, an oddly formal gesture for her. “Thank you for dinner and the ride back,” she says.

“It was nothing,” Yui replies, but the smile on her face fails to reach her eyes. As Mari turns to enter her room, she feels a hand on her arm. “Mari, I… I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”

“‘s okay,” mutters Mari. “It’s probably for the best, since I’m leaving soon anyway.” Her frame seems to droop with that statement, a telling gesture. _And I’m not even lying._ “Hey… since this is the last time we’ll be… y’know, by ourselves for a while, is it… is it okay if I can get a going-away present from you?”

The pity in Yui’s eyes almost makes her want to take the question back, to smile and laugh it off like any other joke. She can’t, though: there’s no energy left in her to do so. She’s been lying all along, telling herself over and over again that it’s mere infatuation that she feels, that distance and time will heal any wounds she may sustain. Then Yui nods, and Mari steps forward almost shamefully to reach up and touch her cheek and suddenly their faces are all too close and _why hasn’t she stopped me yet?_

Contact. Her lips are soft; that’s the first thing Mari notices. Her lips are soft, and yet still she does not move away. They are statues in the hall, motionless, locked in this display of affection that Mari knows is yet another lie. She doesn’t want to break the kiss, doesn’t want to breathe- she could asphyxiate here if Yui is the last thing she sees, tastes, smells.

But Yui needs to breathe, and so Mari backs away for air first, so it’s not too awkward- that’s the last thing she wants. Still the other is silent and unmoving. Finally, she manages to stammer out a “Th-thank you.” And Yui smiles.

“Good night, Mari. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch?”

The shorter of the pair shrugs, the ease flooding back into her limbs. “Yeah, I guess. Good night, Yui.” She turns and hurries into her room without another word, without looking back. The instant the door clicks into place behind her, Mari allows herself to give way, her back sliding down the cold wood as her hands dart to her mouth. _Just an infatuation. It’ll pass,_ she chants, beginning to rock back and forth. Dear _god_ , she hopes it’ll pass.

\-------------------

A pitching from side to side tosses Mari into full alert. She vaults from her bed, landing in the center of her shared room, arms coming up into a defensive stance. “Oi, Kone-megane! It’s just turbulence,” her roommate snarls. A pillow goes flying at her. “Hide your shame.”

“Thanks, Princess, but I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” says Mari. Her plugsuit scrapes the floor, hisses as it conforms to her body, unchanged by time. The red rectangular frames find their way to her face: the circular ones were damaged in her last stand before Near-Third Impact, and she feels unworthy of them now, as if they are sacred relics desecrated, profaned. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yep! Just wanna make sure I’m not missing anything exciting!” _Liar._

“Alright, but remember, we have a synchronization test tomorrow before lunch.”

“I’ll be there, Princess! Can’t let you get a free victory just ‘cause I’m gone!” Mari tosses Asuka one of her trademark thumbs-up-and-smiles and is gone.

They find her the next morning in the engine room, curled up at the edge of the machinery holding Evangelion Unit-01 in place. Her shoulders rock counter to the swaying of the _Wunder_ , and her lenses are moist with water vapor.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Poets of the Fall's "Dreaming Wide Awake" ~~because that song is totally this pairing~~
> 
> Thanks to willofasherah and r0sie-p0sies of Tumblr and Maggotlaggot for helping me beta this
> 
> ~~I'm just gonna curl up and cry now~~  
>  ~~P.S. You can tell I suck at summaries, right?~~


End file.
